


First Kiss

by Edweirdina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blink And You Miss It Slash, F/M, Het, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6113971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edweirdina/pseuds/Edweirdina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post WS!Bucky is kind of a jerk. But, he's a sexy jerk.</p><p>UnBeta'ed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

When Barnes appeared in Delilah’s day, it was as a thundercloud on the horizon, a sudden tsunami of dark energy and sex. A text was the only warning she ever got, if any, and he meant them as exactly that: a warning. He wasn't chatty. Afterward, he pulled his pants up and left. He had never once kissed her.

Under normal circumstances, all of this would have been the furthest thing from okay with her, but she could accept it from Barnes for two reasons: 1. she had Steve, giving her all the sweet vanilla anyone could want; Barnes was like a drizzle of dark chocolate, lending a hint of balancing bitterness to all that sweetness, 2. she understood that as it was, this was all that Barnes could give. Admittedly, most of what he did give was in the guise of taking; but simple proximity - the fact that he allowed her inside the careful perimeter he maintained against everyone but Steve - it was some kind of gift.

That night she got home late, and found him waiting in the dark apartment, sitting in the furthest, darkest corner of the living room. She stepped in from the hallway without turning on the living room lights, registered a presence, and startled. It was only when Barnes chuckled that she located him. As her eyes found him he moved, a darker shape separating itself from the shadows, and stalked toward her. He took a couple of steps and paused. Delilah heard the creak of leather, muffled Velcro tearing, then a weighty thunk: the sound of a holstered gun hitting the surface of the end table. Then the click of metal fingers on a metal buckle, some raspy nylon-on-nylon noises: it didn't take a soldier or a spy to deduce that he was divesting himself of a number of knives, just minimum knowledge of James Buchanan Barnes. This was the closest he came to undressing for sex, at least with her. But by the time he finished, in less than a minute, some ridiculous, Pavlovian response had her already wet, ready for him.

But when he got close enough to see her clearly in the dim light of the room, he paused again. He could read: "tired; shitty day," on her face, in the set of her shoulders. For all that he did his best to deny it, there was still the ghost of a gentleman hidden away at the heart of Bucky Barnes, and he wondered if she was up for him. He started to turn away. Delilah reached out and caught his arm. He stilled, suppressing a host of reflexive responses to being touched unexpectedly. He turned to glare at her. Inwardly, Delilah winced, but she gazed back at him with the same steady, impassive expression she always gave him. Then, very deliberately, she let her eyes travel down his body.

"Don't go," she said. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Please," she said. This wasn't the way the game had been played between them; she never asked, just took what she was given. Only once had she ever said no, and he'd respected it. But she had never asked for him, or asked anything of him. She let go of his arm, and waited.

He gave a brief nod of assent, then he spread his hands over her rib cage, and backed her up against the wall, holding eye contact as he brought his face so close to hers that her eyes could no longer focus on him. She let her head fall back. His breath was warm against her lips, her jaw. It was as close as he had ever come to kissing her. Then he ducked his head, nosing his way down her throat, into the space between her breasts. He stayed there, breathing in and out, scenting her. Not in an Alpha way, like Steve might before posessively nipping the gland at her throat, just in a human way. Then Barnes slid bonelessly to his knees. Well, there was a first.

"Why do you always gotta wear pants?" He growled with exaggerated pique. Then he was undoing the button at her waist, hooking his fingers under the waistbands of her jeans and panties, and yanking them both down at once. She helped him peel them off. When they hit the floor, he held her with controlling hands on her hips as she hopped on one foot, then the other, getting out of them. It left her naked from the waist down. She shivered a little. If she’d been anticipating anything, she might have imagined she'd be turned around to face to the wall, so he could slide into her from behind. Or that he would lift her up and pin her there, her toes dangling just above the floor, unable to get purchase on anything, while he fucked her. Both of those things had happened before; she would not have objected in the least if they had happened again.

Instead, he smoothed his hands from her hips down, then back up, pushing her thighs apart. As he hit the junction of her thighs, his thumbs dug in, spreading her open, and then his mouth was on her. She would have been less surprised if he'd slapped her. She unthinkingly grabbed at him, one hand at the back of his head, the other scrabbling uselessly against his left shoulder. To her further astonishment, instead of shaking her off, he growled again, opening his mouth further, digging in with his tongue as far back as he could reach, then dragging forward with the flat of it. He had both hands and his mouth between her thighs, licking and sucking at her clit with a total lack of inhibition, and a great deal of evident enjoyment. The sudden intensity of the sensation was overwhelming. She moaned, unable to suppress it. She didn't know if he wanted her loud or quiet; she felt she didn't know this man at all. There was just one word in her mind, repeating over and over: "Bucky. Buckybuckybuckybucky _bucky_ ..."

With the tiny shreds of coherent thought left to her, she struggled not to say it out loud; she didn't dare.

Barnes' tongue grew more focused, more intent. After some experimentation, he found the right spot and settled into a steady rhythm, and Delilah began to melt. He used his shoulder to press her left leg further to the side, curling his arm under her thigh and pulling her tighter into his face, taking some of her weight. Now he had room to slide two fingers inside her. He stroked in and out following the same rhythm as his tongue, and she started to come apart. For the next eight minutes, she was intensely aware that she had his whole attention, though his eyes stayed closed. By the time she came, he had taken most of her weight onto himself, which was the only thing keeping her upright. Delilah was on the point of tears, panting "Oh God, oh my God," as lost in pleasure as she had ever been. She managed not to scream his name - the one she never used - at the end, but it was a near thing.

She felt, rather than heard, his grunt of satisfaction.

She was not recovered, could barely see straight, when he stood up and muscled her over to the couch. His arms left her while he pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Without him encircling her, she stumbled back, would have landed on the sofa, but he caught her. He swiped at his mouth with the shirt then tossed it down on arm of the sofa, and settled her on top of it. Saving the upholstery, she thought nonsensically, how thoughtful. He was bare to the waist, twice as naked as he'd ever been with her, and her mouth soundlessly formed the word, "Wow." Anyone who sleeps with Steve Rogers isn’t exactly hurting for eye candy, but Delilah couldn’t deny that Barnes - _Bucky_ \- was beautiful. The light from the hallway cast his left side in shadow, giving the illusion he was all flesh, but she knew the metal arm was there. She also knew that contemplating it sometimes made Steve sad, but Delilah had never known Barnes without it. When Delilah saw that arm, her strongest emotion was a fierce, teeth-baring sense of victory: he’s here, he’s alive, he survived it. All of it.

Still a little drunk on endorphins, she leaned in and slung her arms around his shoulders. If she’d been just a little more caught up in the moment, she’d have tried to kiss him. But she caught herself in time and angled her head down, rubbing her cheek on his collarbone and nuzzling the side of his neck. Warm skin, and the smell of Barnes: not Alpha, not anything but himself. He insinuated his hand between their bodies, undoing the button on his pants, the zipper, and then he was pushing into her. He tipped her back, and she went over, until her shoulders met the couch cushions. At that angle, his cock pressed against the part of Delilah's pussy made most sensitive by her recent orgasm. She wrapped her legs around him and wiggled her hips, trying to grind on him. He huffed a laugh.

"So, you like my dick as much as my tongue, sweetheart?" Bucky asked, smiling. Shockingly, it was the genuine article: an honest-to-God, Bucky Barnes smile, straight from the newsreels. She was stunned, and wondered for a moment if Steve had seen him like this. Then again, she supposed if anyone had had that good fortune, it had to be Steve.

"Almost," she said, twisting her hips again.

Barnes had evidently already extended Delilah all the indulgence he was capable of. He held her in place and went to work: drawing out slowly, then pushing back in hard. His angle of approach continued to be a torment, a delicious one: every stroke took her almost back to the brink of orgasm. She lingered on the edge, quivering and moaning for him, but her languid, too-satisfied body never quite peaked again. Which was clearly fine with Barnes, he'd done his duty by her and now barely seemed aware of her. It seemed making her come had excited him enough to accelerate the usual timeline; in no time his breathing had gone ragged and he was thrusting hard enough that Delilah's body teetered on the border between pleasure and pain. Despite the appearance of abandon there was no question that he was still exercising control: like Steve, he was far too strong to just let go entirely. When he came he was as deep inside her as he could get, his face uncharacteristically soft: lips parted and eyes closed, as he shuddered all over.

Afterward, he withdrew from her immediately and vanished down the hall. Delilah shimmied down onto the couch cushions, keeping Barnes' t-shirt more or less under the sticky parts of her. She was aching, exhausted, slightly bruised, and in some danger of falling asleep. Barnes returned wearing one of Steve's t-shirts. He had chosen the darkest color available in Steve’s wardrobe: navy blue. It brought out his eyes when they caught the light from the hallway.

"I want that shirt back washed," he said.

"Aw, you think you're getting it back," she replied. She was pretty sure that it cost him some effort not to smile at her again. She watched as Barnes quickly and quietly rearmed himself. She wondered at what her life had become, that someone buckling on a holster, sliding a knife into their boot, had become a familiar, near-domestic tableau to her.

"You know what I keep thinking?” she said softly, “What does he need me for, if he's sleeping with you?"

"I keep thinking the same thing," Barnes said. He bent over the back of the couch and kissed her once, hard, on the mouth. He left her with the taste of herself in her mouth and her pulse racing.


End file.
